


Dominion

by Destina



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, Episode Related: Flight, Episode Related: The Sentinel: by Blair Sandburg, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim reads Blair's dissertation and is stunned by what he finds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dominion

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written/posted in April 2000. This has a plot, despite the fact that I tried desperately to get around that problem like you wouldn't believe and just write hot, primal sex, but well. You know. These things happen. The story evolved because of the excellent and insightful betas of Indigo and Lilith Sedai, and I owe them many thanks. Thanks also to Pumpkin and Beth A. for encouragement and support.

It was the question Blair had been dreading. Since the press conference which ended his academic career, he'd been lulled into believing the subject had been dropped; it was one of the top two things he wanted most, so he'd persuaded himself pretty easily. Anything to preserve the boundaries of the little world he inhabited with Jim Ellison, the world that had so recently been tossed into chaos. 

Jim was casual about it, so much so that Blair had to wonder how long he'd been formulating the question, how many times his friend had intended to ask and decided against it. The words slipped out smoothly, but he was willing to bet that the road leading up to them had been a rough ride. 

"So, Chief." Jim took a long swig from the beer bottle, settling back on the couch, eyes fixed on an invisible point somewhere deep in the coffee table. "How about you let me read that thesis of yours?" 

His heart reacted before Blair really had a grasp on what Jim had said, stuttering into a rhythm of apprehension. Finally, a chance to show him without being too obvious, without shoving his work in Jim's face. It should have thrilled him; would have, once. Now it only brought the prospect of opening doors he'd closed for good, and made him wonder why Jim had decided it was time to take a peek into his head. 

He wanted to be pleased, he really did, and he tried to water the little seed of pride that was looking for attention, but he was drowning in doubt. The thought of Jim poring over every page, digesting every roughly written, technically diluted piece of information, made him break out into a cold sweat. 

"You sure you want to, Jim? I mean, don't feel like you have to," Blair said slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ears. As usual, the moment he looked away, he felt Jim's eyes on him. Strange how Jim spent so much time looking, but only when there was no possibility of connection. 

"You put years of work into it." Jim's tone was mild, but there was something there, something of the persuasive and irresistible variety. "I'm interested." 

Blair raised his eyes suddenly, and locked into Jim's gaze. 

"Okay," he said, feeling curiously subdued. He rose from the arm of the chair, heading for the bedroom, pushing the door nearly closed behind him. 

It occurred to him that maybe he should get a grip, that there was no _reason_ to be paranoid. He'd been up-front all the way through, no twisting of truth, no surprises. 

So why did he suddenly feel like keeping that one hard copy was a crazy mistake? 

He'd thrown it into a lockbox the second it was printed, first and only draft, the only tangible proof of his dedication to learning. At the end, it had become a symbol of his dedication to Jim. Only somehow, the framework of the details had taken something vital away from the deep connection he felt with his subject. Every word he'd written had been the utter truth, carefully pieced together with both awe and respect. And yet, the truth of what he'd experienced with Jim had felt obscured, covered, cluttered with labels of research and thesis. 

But it had to be that way, to be valid. He was supposed to be an observer, not a participant. No one had to know how complicated it had become. He hadn't printed his notes, and there wasn't any way for Jim to read his mind between the lines. Not even Jim knew him that well. Some things could be kept hidden; he'd proven that. 

Two deep breaths, in case Jim was still paying attention, still tuned in. Calm might save him, but it wasn't going to work unless he could make his face match his body's rhythms, smoothing out the rough edges only Jim could detect. He dropped to his knees and fished underneath the bed with one arm, smacking against the lockbox and coaxing it out with his fingertips. 

With the lockbox in his lap, palm resting on the top, he pressed his back to the bedside table and closed his eyes. There was no way he could refuse. No graceful way to say no without hurting Jim. After Jim had done so much to save his ass, it wasn't so much to ask. 

Was it? 

Quietly, Blair rose to his knees, pulling open the drawer of the little table and rummaging among the contents for the key. It had always been there. He'd never gone to any trouble to hide it from Jim, and if his partner were the nosy type, he could have committed the entire thesis to memory months before. Jim had made that mistake once, but never again; somehow Blair knew the fallout from a single episode of sneaking and snooping had cured Jim of the need to intrude in places he wasn't invited. The small silver key had been floating among the refuse of his life in that drawer for longer than he cared to remember. More than once, Blair had wondered if his secret hope was for Jim to rifle through the clutter and come up with the prize. 

Clutching the key, he tucked the heavy metal box under one arm and pushed open the door. Jim's head moved just a fraction of an inch as he moved into the living room, almost too quickly to see, but Blair already knew. He'd been watching, waiting for the door to open, waiting for the secrets to show themselves, hoping Blair wouldn't say no. 

Sometimes, having that strange understanding of Jim's heart was unnerving to Blair, and right now he just couldn't stop to think too much about it. 

He placed the box carefully on the coffee table with the key on top and stepped back, fighting the urge to run. Anywhere, outside, _away_. Someplace where Jim couldn't ask his questions, couldn't peer into his scarred psyche and peel away all the excuses. He told himself that no amount of questioning would make a difference anymore; the walls had been built too high. 

"Here you go." Blair caught himself in the act of raising one hand to fiddle with his hair, and froze in mid-motion as Jim turned those mild eyes on him. 

"I appreciate this," he said sincerely, and panic rose in Blair, unreasonable, irrational. 

"No problem, man. I'm outta here. Got to go run through one more practice on the range before I qualify tomorrow." Blair already had his backpack slung across his shoulder, strangely heavy with the weight of a gun and extra clips instead of books and notes and assorted academia. "Take your time. If you have any questions, I'll be home by five." 

"I'll cook," Jim said, and his eyes dropped to the box, an involuntary motion that made Blair shudder. "Chili sound good to you?" 

"Sure," Blair agreed. The sight of Jim so focused and _intent_ on getting to the dissertation made him afraid in ways he couldn't express, so he didn't try. Instead, he swallowed hard, hoping to raise his voice from the depths of his throat. "Meatless, okay? That stuff is going to kill you." 

"Yeah, meatless. Get out of here," Jim said, looking up, and a genuine smile settled over his features. "I need a partner who can actually hit what he's aiming for." 

"Oh, that's easy for _you_ to say," Blair retorted, but the words felt flat and he backed up a step. "Later." 

Jim didn't answer; one big hand was already on top of that small silver object. 

Blair fled. 

* * *

Repetition. Qualifying to carry a gun was all about shooting, reloading, marking the target and trying harder. Blair had become quite proficient with his weapon, although he knew he would never enjoy the feeling of firing a gun, of being able to strike a bullseye at fifty feet. Firearms training was all about training to take a life, and the thought caused little shudders of revulsion to trickle through his conscience. Better to just load, fire, repeat, without thinking. 

Without thinking of killing, of being a cop, of aiming a weapon at someone in the heat of passion or anger, or fear. 

He fired, reloaded, and set the weapon down in that same endless cycle as the rangemaster walked toward him with his target in hand. For the first time that afternoon, he allowed his mind to wander back to the loft and to what Jim was doing. 

Gradually, his feeling of anxiety was passing, that sense that perhaps Jim would know him as well as Blair had come to know his subject. The thesis wasn't about him, and there were only small hints of his feelings to be seen. He'd been so careful to extract every bit of emotion, every trace of hero worship, all the small clues that the relationship had progressed past the point of an anthropological project and into the realm of desire. 

It was hard to admit that loss of perspective, even after he'd accepted the fact that he would have to set aside his ambitions in the academic arena and find new goals. His point of view had been fatally flawed throughout the entire time he studied Jim. Even before he was consciously aware of it, the subtle attraction had been there, interfering with his objectivity, wearing away the film of professionalism that separated the anthropologist from his study subject. It seemed strange that Jim's request would reawaken that old guilt, but he understood his partner's need to see the research. If nothing else, it served as a signal that Jim had realized Blair's old life was over for good. 

Blair accepted the paper target, perforated by bullet holes. The praise of the rangemaster washed over him without impact. How many times had he watched Jim draw a gun and fire in his defense and admired the steel it must take to shoot at a living being with such assured calm? He would have to be that good, and better, to be Jim's partner. The thought drove him to work ten times harder than he would have for himself. He wouldn't allow his partner to get hurt because Jim had made the unfathomable decision to take him on. 

The runt of the litter, remade as watchdog. It still rang hollow in his heart. 

He slid the empty clip from the 9mm weapon and popped in the replacement, thumbing off the safety and lowering the goggles. Ten shots in rapid succession. Jim couldn't possibly learn anything from that dissertation. He'd sanitized it, wiped it clean of every incriminating word. There was nothing in that box to give Jim any indication of his feelings, except for his journal - 

Blair's finger relaxed on the trigger and he lowered the weapon carefully. With one hand, he ripped the goggles from his eyes as the sick feeling plummeted from his heart into his stomach. He'd forgotten, how could he have been so _stupid_ , there wasn't much but if Jim read it through he would find it, he'd been so _careful_ to burn the notes, but he couldn't part with the field journal, oh, _god_ \-- 

Gun into the holster, goggles to the floor, and he was running, hoping, knowing it was already too late but compelled to try and avert disaster anyway. 

* * *

Hidden thrills...that's what he'd been expecting, really, and Jim was having no luck finding them in the body of Blair's dissertation. On his one foray into the realm of Sandburg's research, he had been disappointed, titillated, and a little freaked. To be known so well, described and laid out like a dissected lab rat, had made him angry all the way to his core. Being understood so completely had scared him then, before he'd learned to give his heart over to the things it most wanted in that quiet way so crucial to his survival. 

The quiet war between his need and his privacy was still not over. He might not be a research subject any longer, but the hunger to be seen, to be _known_ by Blair Sandburg, was still there, fidgeting and itching inside him. 

Around page 200, Jim started skimming. Looking for important words, like "dominance" and "sentinel" and "powerful," and other such cues. 

Somewhere close to page 300, he gave up completely and tucked the pages neatly back into their careful order. 

Fascinating, to be sure, but so dry, so scientific. The language, the theory behind Sandburg's words was as far from Jim's experience as could be imagined. He'd seen glimpses of himself from time to time, in descriptions of his actions, of their experiments together, but the theoretical diatribe was killing him - or more precisely, it was boring him to death. 

Gone was much of the language that had personalized the early chapter Jim had read many months before. There were still veiled references to his life, his emotions, his needs, but it had been cleaned up to such an extent that his name and his abilities were all that was left. 

It was perfect for an academic presentation, but it bored Jim to tears. He couldn't quite fathom what a book publisher had seen in it; his tastes ran to the more concrete and tangible. He could see the fictional potential in the core of the research, but all the drama surrounding that document seemed ridiculous. 

With a sigh, he lowered the giant manuscript into the box, thinking of what he would tell his roommate. He owed the kid that much. Because of him, no one else in the world would ever see or believe one word of Blair's research. The guilt had been weighing on him daily, eating holes in his pleasure at seeing Sandburg working his way through the Academy. It was his world, and Blair had come into it one tiny step at a time. His world, where a young man like his partner was completely out of place despite his best efforts. 

Of all the cops he worked with, only Simon knew how desperately he'd tried to find a way to make Blair fit, how vehemently he had defended the young man. And Simon liked Blair, but he didn't think Blair belonged, either. Simon's considered opinion, delivered over a half-chewed cigar and a beer, had been that Blair belonged with Jim anywhere but on the force. Jim had tuned him out, shut him off. He couldn't deal with it. Some words struck too close to home, revealed shrewd truths that couldn't stand closer examination. 

A flash of red caught Jim's eye as he stuffed the papers back into their little fortress, and he caught the scent of mud and grass, and of Blair's skin, unwashed and pungent. In an instant, he was transported back to Peru. Images crowded in on him: Blair beside the fire, scribbling furiously and asking questions he was too tired to answer. 

Jim let go of the sheaf of papers as his hand automatically closed around the thin field journal, and the two documents changed places. 

Lazily, he settled back on the couch among the pillows and pried open the sticky cover, scanning through the first few pages, sipping his now-warm beer. Lots of notations about plants, locations, a general map. A humorous account of the parachute jump. Jim chuckled, finding it easier in hindsight to forget his terror that Blair would break both his legs as he landed. His eyes ran freely over that loopy Sandburg scrawl he'd learned to translate out of necessity and he picked out key words, as he always did - quiet, night, asleep, senses, lust. 

Lust? 

The word pinged against his warning bells and Jim sat up straight, setting his beer bottle aside. He began to read for content, for comprehension. Each word seared his heart. 

_I've given him dominion over me. Over my life, my work, my belongings, my body, even the space that surrounds me._

The sight of the phrase on the page made Jim shudder, sent a shiver of the oh-what-the- _fuck_ variety down his spine and crashing into his cock. He moved to set the paper down, to obtain a little bit of deniability, but his eyes were charging ahead full steam, greedy for that last little bit of incriminating evidence, ready to put the lid on the case and seal it up tight. 

Only, he knew what he was going to see would blow the lid off everything, open their friendship up wide, cause cracks and holes in the foundation of their partnership. 

His eyes snatched up the information, passing it gleefully to his brain, their duty complete. 

It was his mind that refused to accept the delivery. 

_There's only one area where I don't know what he's like. It's the thing I'm most curious about, actually, but there'll never be a circumstance where I could tell him how curious I am, or what I imagine. And there's nobody to ask. He's not like this with anybody else. He's not this open, this trusting. He certainly doesn't tell anyone else his secrets. And he'd never reveal his power to a woman, or try and show her his strength in bed. The truth is, I would give him dominion there, if he ever touched me like that, but he's too locked up in his image of himself. He can't see the possibilities and I'm not going there - I'm not sure he could handle it._

I've been watching him sitting over there by the fire, absorbed in his own little world and preoccupied with whatever's bothering him, and I'm having a hard time controlling the lust I feel. It's fortunate for me that's he's oblivious to pretty much everything right now, because he'd smell it on me in a heartbeat, and there's nothing out here in the jungle to blame it on, no external stimulus. Only Jim. It wouldn't take him long to figure it out, and then I'd be in big trouble. 

It's hard to see him exerting his dominance and not want to be dominated. Not want to be part of his territory. I've belonged to him since the second he really looked at me, really _saw_ me, since he put his hands on me and knocked me against the wall in my office. I've tried not to think about it, but the truth is, if he ever wanted to exert his ownership, I'd let him claim me. What the hell does that make me? I'm over here making notes, trying to pretend I'm objective. All I really want is for him to fuck me into tomorrow. 

Jim raised his hand, slid it over the words on the page, and shut his eyes. He didn't have to read it again; the words were emblazoned on his mind, and they made perfect sense. It had never been about tests, experiments, and research. It hadn't been about friendship, either; maybe on a conscious level where everything was controlled and well-ordered, but underneath...well, underneath, hadn't he always known? 

His stomach dropped away, carrying his rational thinking with it, and he let the realization wash over him. How many times had he found excuses to touch Sandburg? That need for connection had become so much a part of his life, such a constant in his daily existence, and he had never questioned it. Too much introspection would have been dangerous, and would have brought him to the point of no return much sooner. 

And how many times had Blair turned those eyes on him, full of emotions he didn't want to recognize, offering possibilities he couldn't process in any way that was familiar? There were truths unspoken, and Blair had written them down...but never shared them with Jim. 

A spark of anger touched off a tiny explosion of resentment in Jim's heart. If Blair had ever given him any concrete indication, he might have acted on that need, that desire to be possessed. It wasn't like the thought had never occurred to him as he watched Blair with his head bent over an old book, glasses slipping down his nose, totally absorbed in some obscure research. More than once he'd turned away, crushing thoughts of what Sandburg's skin might feel like under his questing fingertips as he conducted a little research of his own. In fact, the idea had crossed his mind in some shape or fashion nearly every day -- from the first time he saw his partner in his office, full of enthusiasm and vibrant life, to the moment he watched Blair deny and invalidate everything that was important to him in order to give Jim some semblance of a normal life. 

At some point, wanting something more from Blair had become inevitable. Jim recognized the symptoms of desire, of wanting the one thing that could make his life hell and overturn the stability he craved. He had shunted it aside, preferring the close connection he already shared with Sandburg to the chance of having nothing at all. If Blair had turned away or moved out, it wouldn't have been worth the small measure of satisfaction he'd have gained from that one moment of intimacy - so Jim had refused to act, and passed up his chance. 

So much could go wrong, and Blair had been so careful not to give away his feelings. If only he'd known... 

He heard Blair coming, taking the stairs two at a time, flying on wings of fear. Increased heart rate, rapid breathing. Jim's jaw tightened, and he closed the journal with a snap. Hadn't Blair realized the journal was still in the box? It was careless of him, and the thought fueled Jim's irrational anger. Maybe Blair _meant_ for him to find it, to read the words he was too scared to say, to see the issue he wasn't willing to confront head-on. How could he even be sure Blair still meant those words, written so long ago? Questions blurred together in his mind, but there was no time to sort it all out. 

Thrown open with heedless impatience, the door crashed into the wall and Blair burst through, a bundle of nervous, anxious energy. Jim turned speculative eyes to his roommate, eyes that flickered over Blair's pale face, over the shocked, dismayed expression. He held up the field notes with one hand, wiggling them in the air. "Interesting reading, Chief." 

* * *

Blair's heart sank as he contemplated the terrifying sight of Jim with the field journal in his hand and knowledge in his eyes. He pulled up short and dropped his backpack beneath the coat rack, shutting the door behind him. "How much did you read?" he asked quietly. 

"Enough," Jim said, tossing the journal onto the coffee table and rising easily. "Enough to wonder how much of you being here with me has been a lie. Hell, how do I know what you've been thinking this entire time? What else have you been hiding from me?" The thin edge of anger was there in his voice, sharp and calm, primed with hurt. 

"I never hid anything from you," Blair shot back, hands stretched out in front of him as if to ward off the suggestion of such a thing. "The key was available to you anytime you wanted it. All you had to do was ask." Inwardly, he began to chart a strategy of denial, deflecting the question with misinterpretation. It was a way out, one that would allow Jim to put the whole thing aside and never mention it again. But curiously enough, Jim didn't seem to want to do that, and the tension in the room became thick and nervous between them. 

"You know that's a lie," Jim said calmly, as though he'd just mentioned the score of the ballgame, or the price of coffee. "You know it, I know it. This is about you hiding from what you want, and keeping it from me so you wouldn't have to face it. You lied to yourself, and so did I, and now I want to hear a little truth." 

Jim was moving forward in an altogether normal way, but suddenly it seemed predatory to Blair and he took an involuntary step back. Too late; Jim had him cornered, backed against the door, looking at him as a hungry cat might look at a potential kill. Hands on either side of Blair's body, Jim leaned forward and their gazes locked, shades of blue darkening in surprise, reflected against a blue mirror of determination. 

"I want to know if you thought of me at night when you were fucking that endless parade of girls," Jim said, and his voice was almost a purr. "I want to hear it from you, Chief. You were going to tell the world everything you knew about me, but none of what you wrote was what you wanted to know, was it?" 

"I couldn't give that part of this away," Blair answered, fighting the urge to reach up and draw his fingers down that twitching muscle in Jim's jaw. "I had to keep something for myself. Something no one else would understand." 

"Not even me?" Jim's question was wrapped in velvet, but it crackled with static. 

"You felt it too," Blair breathed. "You knew, Jim, I know you did, and I knew, but we pretended, oh hell, don't tell me you didn't because I saw you watching, I felt it every time I turned away. I know you wanted me. Want me." 

The observation had the desired effect, and Jim's hand wandered into the short, soft hair, shorn for his sake. "How about that word, Sandburg? Dominion. You know what it means, don't you?" His fingers curled around the strangely bare nape of the other man's neck, and Blair's eyes fluttered closed. 

"Of course I know what it means. I wrote it. There was nothing else that fit..." Long fingers were stroking up into his hair, and the sensation sent a streak of pure desire through his body, focusing all his attention on that one point of contact. 

Wild thoughts ran through Blair's mind, descriptions, word patterns, things like primal and elemental and fuck, he's touching me, he's _touching me_. He gave himself over to the cravings of his nervous system, to the electrical storm just beneath his skin everywhere Jim's fingers were leaving their imprint. 

"So tell me, Chief. How did you mean it?" The words were spoken against his skin, and Jim's unbelievably soft lips were against his forehead, making it difficult to remember what he'd actually meant, when he didn't want to be talking at all. 

"Ownership," Blair answered, and his body quivered with the implications. 

"C'mon, genius. It means, 'absolute ownership'." Those dark blue eyes were gleaming wickedly. "Is that what you wanted all along? To be owned by me? Do you have any idea what that would mean?" 

Was it what he wanted? Hell yes. It was _all_ he wanted, it was the one thing he would never be able to get enough of. Sensory assault, he thought, wondering how Jim could bear it, if what he felt was remotely so beautiful. 

"I have a feeling you're about to show me." I hope. 

"Well then, your feeling would be right," Jim said, hand flat on Sandburg's chest, pushing, pinning him in place. Jim's eyes narrowed, long enough for Blair to think about running. The urge to flee was overpowered in a millisecond by a more persuasive need, and a tiny voice in his mind whispered to him. _Stay and see_. 

Before he had time to debate the wisdom of it with himself, Jim was on him, almost as close as his own skin, and he was speaking again, the sound of his voice vibrating all the way down Blair's spine. 

"Is this what you think of me?" he said softly. "Some mindless animal, looking to own you?" 

"No," Blair hissed, "it's what I _feel_. C'mon, Jim, I know you better than anyone alive. Now we're through playing like it's not gonna happen, so just do it, all right?" His body was through waiting; it had begun to surge forward, striving for even closer contact with the heat source directly ahead. "Isn't that what you want?" 

Jim's body was answering that call. His hips swayed forward and he pushed his groin against the center of Blair's body, sinuously rubbing in an addictive rhythm. "Maybe it _is_ what I want," he answered quietly, and the admission sent Blair's mind reeling into numb submission to the truth. "So you should be a little more careful," Jim went on, lips brushing against Blair's ear as he spoke, "because you might get what you wish for." 

Blair shivered and reached up to gather two fistfuls of Jim's shirt. "What is it going to take?" He turned his face up, eyes narrowed, skin flushed with the possibility of danger as he tested the new limits, probing them with just the hint of a dare. 

Jim's hands closed over his fists and pried them off the shirt, pushing his wrists up, asking no permission. He pinned Blair's hands to the wall, holding him in place easily with brute force. "You don't want to do that, Chief. Because I'm not exactly in control right now." Raw and on the edge, and so close to falling into what they both wanted...and yet, he was still holding back, and Blair could feel the need in him, thrumming like some sort of magical song. 

"Good," Blair said, voice rising. "I'm sick of you always being so fucking repressed. Be out of control. _Do_ it." The challenge was clear, and every hair on Blair's body stood on end. "Let it go, man. Just--" 

His next words were swallowed, devoured by the lips covering his own, by the kiss he'd known was coming but could never have prepared for. He exhaled a long breath of satisfaction between Jim's parted lips as Jim moved forward, pressing the length of his body to Blair's, deepening that hungry kiss with growing urgency. That mouth took all he offered and sought more, exploring him with a wanton need that rippled through him, pulsing in his cock, beating with the erratic pattern of a heart out of control. 

A hand ripped at the buttons on the fly of his jeans, tugging his shirttail out and delving across his stomach, digging for one thing only. And as it closed over him, and Jim's tongue flickered over his, the world exploded into bliss and perfection, and rational thought deserted Blair completely. 

* * *

His tongue touched Sandburg's, and Jim became lost in the rough feel of it, the texture of it against his own as he searched deeper inside that space that was so rarely silent. The sound of tearing cloth penetrated his lust-hazed brain, and he tore himself away from Blair's mouth. 

"Sandburg," he growled hoarsely, as thumbs raked across his nipples, "you ripped my shirt." 

"In the way," Blair panted, struggling to catch his breath in that moment's respite before returning to his exploration of Jim's mouth. 

The edges of the tattered fabric slid sensuously over Jim's arms as he shrugged off the useless shirt, making him harder than he'd ever been in his entire life. Blair reached to pull the garment away, but Jim needed those hands to be busy in other places. He shoved his lover hard against the wall, giving him access to his body even as he yanked Blair's shirt free in turn. The cloth parted like tissue, releasing bare skin to his fingertips, revealing the heat and the smell and the soft hair of Blair Sandburg. Speech fled, leaving him with nothing but moans coming from somewhere deep in his throat. And somehow, Blair had figured out what he needed and was giving it to him, with little circles across the tip of his cock. 

A deep growl made its way up from his throat, and he gave the sound up to the air, let Sandburg hear him the way he was hearing Sandburg. Only it was different, because he heard everything - from the soft sounds of suckling as that lush mouth lapped at his right nipple, to the surge of blood through his partner's body, to his strong heartbeat, sending that blood into the engorged shaft nestled against his palm. 

"Jim," Blair gasped, and it made him crazy, sent him back up to that lush mouth, looking to capture the wonder behind the way his name sounded on those lips. He tasted it, mixed with the sweet-sharp flavor of blood, and he lapped at the bite he'd inflicted as Blair's body arched against him, inviting him, demanding everything he'd been holding back. 

He unleashed his strength, wrapping his arms around his partner and fitting their bodies together completely, joining them at mouth and belly and cock. 

Instinct pulled him, drove him down, and he yanked Sandburg's jeans lower as he traveled south, as he settled on his knees and opened his mouth to worship the man who had not-so-suddenly become the center of everything. 

"No, no," pleaded a voice from a tunnel somewhere above him, and he rubbed his face against Blair's cock, needing the feel and the scent of it. "No, Jim, wait. Not here." 

"Too late," Jim said, licking just a little, smiling as Blair swore a string of reverently filthy words. 

Blair reached down and hauled him up with surprising strength, shoving him backwards, and a wrestling match ensued as they tumbled to the floor. Tangled together, arms and legs twined, they grappled for position as Blair tried to drag him toward the bedroom. Jim's focus narrowed to the beads of sweat dotting Sandburg's upper lip, the smell of arousal filling the air around them. Sandburg rolled sideways, tugging Jim along, and they crashed into a table. Jim swatted aside the lamp as it fell, breaking it in midair, shielding Blair from the shards of ceramic and glass as they rained down. 

"Enough!" he snarled, dragging Blair into a half-sitting position against the couch, taking a dark delight in the wide blue eyes that signaled Blair's capitulation. His hands closed on Sandburg's hips as he crawled down the slender body, and found his target. 

"Jesus!" Blair's body bucked up wantonly as Jim drew his tongue sensuously down the length of that tempting cock. He slammed Blair's hips back into place with an unyielding grip, holding him steady. Jim took the twitching, swollen shaft into his mouth, tasting it, knowing what Blair wanted as surely as if he'd been giving detailed instructions all along. It was so clear, so perfect, and he moved slowly, knowing there wasn't much time, waiting expectantly for the taste of Blair's completion. 

Something about the vulnerability of the man beneath him, the rapturous expression on his face, the offer given and accepted and displayed by Blair's trust and need, struck hard at Jim's core. The power of giving his lover pleasure sparked through him as he watched Blair's lashes flutter against his cheeks, saw Blair's throat working to give voice to formless words. It was so easy to see, after so long; he would do anything it took to claim his guide. Anything. 

Sandburg cried out, hands clawing at the floor, and came with a shuddering moan, pulsing into the wet, ready depths of Jim's mouth. Jim swallowed and gentled his hands, aware there would be bruises on Blair's body tomorrow, curiously satisfied by the thought. 

With regret, he released the sated organ and spread his fingers across Blair's thighs. He looked up into passion-dazed eyes, communicating with his gaze, and the truth shimmered between them. To own is to be owned...and the moment he had taken possession of his lover, he had given up everything of himself in return. 

Jim pulled himself to his hands and knees and slowly ascended Blair's body, hovering over him, nestling his face in the curve of Blair's neck. He was burning with want, and he added the salt taste of skin and sweat to the experience already catalogued by his tongue, marking a path of kisses and following it by bites, not gentle, but harsh enough to cause shuddering gasps. 

"Now, Jim." Not a request, but a command, spoken low. Shaking hands traced Jim's spine, sliding beneath the waistband of his jeans and pushing. 

"Hmmm?" Jim nuzzled the hollow of Blair's throat, licking away droplets of salty sweat there, absorbed in the fluctuations of the heartbeat underneath his lips. 

"I need you inside me _now_." 

He raised his head, kissing the curved line of Blair's jaw, the corner of his mouth. "Are you sure?" he whispered, reveling in the sharp intake of breath his question produced. "Be sure, Blair. No going back from here." 

"I'm sure." Soft, and urgent. 

"We need -" 

"Table, by my bed. Same drawer as the key was in." Blair's low chuckle acknowledged the irony. He lifted his legs and skimmed off his jeans, tossing them aside. Jim reached down a hand and helped him to his feet, clasping and touching as their mouths fused again. Jim's last inhibition melted under the direct contact of Blair's nude body, warm and compliant and ready to be taken. 

They drifted into the bedroom, fell headlong into the unmade mess of sheets and comforters, and Jim pitched blankets to the floor as they settled into the center of the bed. Even as he shifted to the side to retrieve the small tube from the bedside table, Blair's determined hands stripped away the remaining clothes between them. Lips descended over a nipple, sucking hard, tongue performing a talented maneuver, and Jim grunted his approval, threading his hands through Blair's hair, head thrown back, body taut. 

Blair backed away, eyes shining, and was turned on his stomach within moments by Jim's uncompromising strength. "Yes," he said, in a tone layered with subtle shadings of ecstasy. His movements became frenzied as he was pinned by Jim's larger body, and he was touched, prepared; Jim stroked deep into him with unerring precision, finding and brushing against the spot of pleasure in the tight passage, and Blair gave a choked cry, thrusting back onto Jim's fingers. 

Too much...Jim shook off the feeling of overwhelmed pleasure with effort, pouring his concentration into touching the man who trembled beneath him, body begging for his entry. Jim's hands were everywhere, caressing the long muscles of the back that flexed and stretched with such grace. His release was too near, and watching Blair's body brought him too close; he closed his eyes, willing away his climax. 

"Jim," Blair moaned, lowering his head onto his crossed arms. "Do it, _please_ ," he hissed, breath coming in shallow pants, muscles reduced to quivering impulses by Jim's relentless touch inside him. 

Jim enclosed his waist with one long arm and settled a hand on his ass, steadying him, positioning himself at the small opening, pressing and invading slowly. Blair's low, guttural moan inflamed him, and he eased in, fingers curling around Blair's hipbones. Blair writhed beneath him, but he stopped the motion with a harsh gasp. "No," he said, and Blair stopped immediately, becoming still beneath Jim. 

Sudden understanding washed over Jim. Blair was his. Irrevocably, totally his. No more barriers to break, no more doubt or need to question. Nothing but the trust between them, the trust that enabled him to take what he needed because it was given freely... 

Jim stroked in deeply, hips moving in a small oval, joining him even more fully to Blair. His hand moved over Blair's shaft, animated and talented. The moment couldn't last; he was too far into a place of pure ecstasy, surrounded by heat and the demand of something he should have acknowledged long before. 

He sank his teeth into the joint of shoulder and neck, and came with a long, low growl, shaking with the effort of not biting harder, of not becoming so lost in the pleasure that he would be blind to Sandburg's needs. The hand on Blair's cock stilled, pressed gently against his hip, flexing there, and they leaned together for a moment before Jim lowered them both to the bed, spent and exhausted. 

Jim raised his head and kissed the bite he'd created, sending a tremor through Blair's body and a sympathetic shiver through his own. 

"Damn it," Blair mumbled. "I didn't want our first time to be half in the living room and half on my dirty sheets." 

"Hey, Chief," Jim protested mildly, running his hands over the chilled skin of Blair's back, "you take your opportunities where you can, right?" 

"Hmmm." Blair sighed, and kissed his jaw. "I wonder if it'll be like that every time? It was so..." He hesitated, and Jim chuckled. 

"Whatever it was, if it makes you search for a word, it's pretty powerful." 

"We have a lot to talk about," Blair began, recovering a little of his usual need to dissect and discuss, but Jim cut him off, capturing his lower lip and pulling it gently into a kiss. 

"Later. This is my domain, remember? And right now, I want some quiet. And a shower." 

"And then we talk about it," Blair said firmly. 

Jim grinned. It was his domain, all right, but there was no question who had dominion. 


End file.
